~GEMMA~
The magnetic lock yields a heavy, final thunk that vibrates through the floorboards.
My heart, already racing from the conversation with Madeline, lurches into uneven rhythm.
I don't have to look up to know who it is.
The air in the room suddenly feels charged, and tensed.
Leonardo Romano doesn't just enter a room; he conquers it.
He stands in the threshold, his silhouette a dark, jagged mountain against the light from the hallway.
His white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal forearms corded with a tension that looks ready to snap.
But it's his eyes that stop my breath.
They aren't the eyes of a CEO or even a Mafia Don. They are the eyes of the "Mad Billionaire."
His gaze isn't on me.
It's fixed on Madeline, who is currently trying to melt into the shadows.
"Did I give you permission to talk to the asset?"
Leonardo's voice is a low, glacial rasp that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand up.
"S..sir... I was just... she asked for breakfast..." Madeline stammers, her head bowed so low I fear she'll snap her neck.
The silver tray in her hands rattles like dry bones.
"She is not here to ask for things, next time, keep her food and walk away."
Leonardo stalks into the room, his step slow and predatory.
He stops inches from the girl, who is now shaking visibly.
"She is not here to build a life. She is a function. A tool for my survival. And you do not speak to the tools. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Sir! I'm sorry!" Madeline practically trips over her own feet as she flees the room.
The door slams shut behind her, the lock engaging with that terrifying magnetic click.
I stand up, my face flushing with a mix of humiliation and a hot, bubbling rage.
"She was just being human, Leonardo. You don't have to treat her or me like we're sub-human. I'm a person, not a piece of equipment," I tell him.
He turns his gaze to me then, and the air in my lungs vanishes.
He looks at my ponytails, and the soft, innocent dress I chose this morning, and a muscle in his jaw twitches with a violent intensity.
"Showing humanity is showing weakness, Gemma," he growls, moving toward me.
"Humanity is how my father died. It's how my mother found the space to drive a knife into his heart. You don't need 'friends.' You don't need a life outside of what I provide. You need to be still."
He reaches me in a single stride, his hand snaking out to grip my chin.
His fingers are like iron, forcing my head back so I have no choice but to look into the storm of his eyes.
"The noise is deafening today," he whispers, his breath smelling of cologne and expensive tobacco. "I can hear the SEC agents scratching at the walls. And then I come home, and I find you... making more noise. Smiling. Talking. Breaking the frequency."
"I was just having breakfast…"
"You were being reachable," he snarls, his grip tightening. "And as long as you belong to me, you are reachable by no one but me."
He doesn't wait for a response.
He tangles his fingers into my ponytails, his grip firm and uncompromising, and pulls.
It's not a pull meant to cause agony, but it is a sharp, dominant claim.
He leads me toward the center of the room, toward the heavy leather chair he had installed yesterday.
My body betrays me, I am starting to respond to his touch with a jolt of electricity.
I hate him.
I hate this house.
But as he shoves me down into the chair, radiating a dark, possessive heat, I feel a treacherous dampness pooling between my thighs.
I suddenly remember scenes of BDSM movies in my head, and I swallow hard.
Is he planning on doing that to me?
Am I ready? I can't tell.
"Hands," he commands.
I lift them, my fingers trembling.
He doesn't just tie me, he secures me, ensuring my only reality is the physical sensation of his touch.
~LEONARDO ~
I look down at Gemma.
She is bound to the chair, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and dark with a mixture of fear and something I recognize as a forbidden hunger.
She thinks she hates me.
She thinks she's a prisoner.
She doesn't realize she is the only thing keeping the Reaper from tearing this world apart.
I reach into the small, velvet jewelry box on the table and pull out the diamond collar. It glitters in the dim light of the rainy afternoon, a trillion-dollar leash for my most vital asset.
I move behind her, my chest brushing her shoulder.
I can feel the heat radiating from her skin, the jasmine scent of her hair filling my lungs and for the first time in ten hours, the static drops an octave.
"You like to talk, Gemma?" I whisper, leaning down until my lips graze the shell of her ear. "You didn't read the rule book I gave to you, right?"
She stares at me, but doesn't utter a word.
I snap the collar around her neck. The weight of the diamonds settles against her throat, marking her as mine.
"From this moment on, you are in Total Isolation. No maids. No kitchens. No sunlight. Your door stays locked. Your food will be brought to you. You move when I tell you."
"You mean to tell me that I'll stay locked up in my room??" She asks in disbelief.
I don't respond to her.
I move to her front, kneeling between her parted knees. I take a black silk blindfold from my pocket.
"I didn't mince my words when I said it earlier," I reply and push her legs further apart. "You'll be punished for having a conversation with Madeline right here and now."
"No!" she gasps, her hands pulling fruitlessly at the restraints. "Leonardo, don't…"
"Silence, Gemma," I growl, my voice rising with the derangement I can no longer hide. "I need the darkness. I need you to have no world but the one I give you."
I tie the silk over her eyes.
She lets out a soft, broken sob that makes my blood boil with a dark, erotic need. In the darkness, she is perfect.
She is a blank canvas for my sanity.
I take a small, weighted leather thong from the kit. I don't want to break the skin; I want to create a rhythm.
I start to tap the leather against her inner thighs, a steady, hypnotic beat. Smack. Smack. Smack.
"Listen to the sound, Gemma," I mutter, my hands sliding up to grip her waist, my thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her hips. "Don't think about Madeline. Don't think about Chloe. Don't think about the world. Just feel the beat. Be the stillness I need."
The more she gasps, the more her body arches toward the sting of the leather, the quieter my head becomes.
"Please, stop," she cries out. "It hurts."
But I don't stop. I continue, more intense this time.
I am using her as a human sedative, a rhythmic grounding wire for a soul that has been on fire since I was a boy.
I lean forward, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the vanilla and the salt of her tears.
I am "The Reaper" of the Romano line, and I am currently kneeling at the feet of a stripper because she is the only thing in the universe that makes the screaming in my head stop.
"You're mine," I whisper against her skin, my hand sliding up to cup her breast, feeling the frantic, beautiful drum of her heart. "I will burn the world to ashes before I let anyone else hear your voice, or see your face again."
As she finally stops struggling and leans her head back, yielding to the darkness and the rhythm I've imposed, the silence is absolute.
For the first time today, the Reaper is at peace. And for the first time, I know that the Anchor is starting to sink into the dark water with me.